


Spoiled

by Synekdokee



Series: Mafia AU [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blow Jobs, Human AU, Lingerie, M/M, Mafia AU, Oral Sex, Smut, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: Just a little thank you for 800 followers on Twitter.





	Spoiled

When Connor returns from having lunch with North and Simon, there are three large, black boxes on his bed, and a white envelope.

He’s used to coming to his room to find gifts from Hank, and there’s a pleasant tension of excitement in his belly as he opens the envelope.

“ _We’re going out. Be ready at 6pm. I want you looking devastating,_ ” Hank’s messy cursive reads.

Connor smiles and opens what can only be a shoe-box first. It contains a pair of patent leather dress shoes, so glossy he can see his own reflection in them.

The second large but flat box contains a brand new suit. Connor drapes it over the bed and feels the fine fabric under his fingertips. It’s black, with a slight, tasteful sheen, and Connor doesn’t need to try it on to know that it will fit him perfectly. Hank will have made sure of that.

In the third box is a set of lace lingerie - a sheer black bralette clearly designed for a man’s chest, matching panties and a garter belt, and stockings.

Connor licks his lips, rubbing the delicate fabric between his fingers. Hank wants him to wear this. Hank wants him to wear this under the suit, and go out in public in it.

His cock twitches at the thought, and he presses the heel of his palm against the base of it, trying to quell his arousal. Out of all the times Hank has dressed him up in lingerie for his own enjoyment, it has always been in private. This, hidden though it is, will be a statement. Of what, Connor’s not entirely sure.

 

 

When he exits the bathroom, reading the etiquette on the bottle of pomade he found, he’s not expecting Hank to be sitting in his armchair, dressed in a sharp black suit. The jacket is thrown over the back of the chair, along with his customary red silk tie.

“Oh, hello, sir,” Connor smiles, setting the pomade down on the side table before going over to give Hank a kiss. He hooks a finger under one of Hank’s suspenders, pulling on it lightly to tug Hank close. “I thought you said we’re leaving at six?”

Hank eyes at him appreciatively, taking in the way the new suit flatters Connor’s figure.

“I wanted to watch you get dressed,” he says casually, and Connor tsks.

“Sorry. I can take it off if you’d like?” Connor says. Hank lifts one finger, making a swirling motion, and Connor gives him a slow turn, showing off the suit.

“Good?” Connor asks, looking down at himself. It’s the nicest suit he’s ever owned, and though it wasn’t tailored in a fitting session, it sits on him perfectly. Connor had preened in the mirror after putting it on, feeling vain satisfaction over the way the pants hugged the swell of his ass.

“Perfect,” Hank says, slouching back in the chair. Connor looks at the way he spreads his legs wide, and gives Hank a sly look. Hank merely looks at him with a stony face, the one he wears when he doesn’t want to give anything away.

So that’s the kind of mood he’s in. Connor ducks his head, grinning.

“Do the garters ruin the line of my pants?” He asks innocently, smoothing the fabric down on his thigh.

Hank leans an elbow on an arm rest, chin propped on his fist. “Come here, let me check,” he says, voice a low rumble.

Connor grins, moving closer to Hank, standing between his spread knees.

“Gotta get closer than that.”

Connor laughs and climbs into Hank’s lap, straddling his hips.

“Close enough, sir?” He asks. Hank gives him a hard look under his brows.

“Let’s see,” he says, tone completely unaffected, undoing Connor’s belt and zipper. He grips Connor’s hip with one hand, steadying him, and slides the other down his pants.

Connor bites his lip, his breath stuttering when Hank gropes at him, cupping him through the lace and then feeling the garters on his thigh.

“Looks good to me,” he murmurs, and Connor leans down to kiss him. He teases the tip of his tongue at the seam of Hank’s stern mouth, and when it parts for him he slides inside, tasting Hank.

He loves kissing Hank, and loves being kissed by him. Hank kisses with his whole body, winding his arms around Connor’s waist or cupping his jaw or the back of his head possessively. Now he slides a large hand to grip Connor’s neck, holding him still while he slides his tongue against Connor’s, holding him tight against him.

Connor’s panting, his cock beginning to harden in his pants. He presses his hips down, grazing his ass over Hank’s lap, and is rewarded with a growl and the scrape of teeth over his bottom lip. Hank’s other hand slides down to rest on his ass, caressing the curve of it, squeezing temptingly.

“Sir,” Connor breathes, pulling back, his lips swollen and wet with spit. “We’re going to be late.”

“They’ll wait for me,” Hank rumbles, dragging him into one last, deep kiss before letting him go and pushing his off his lap.

Connor groans, reaching down to squeeze his cock through his pants, and then does himself up again, fingers a little shaky on the belt buckle. Hank watches him with an amused smirk - though Connor can see the swell in his pants, he looks far more put-together than Connor feels.

Connor lets out a huff, pouting as he moves towards the mirror.

“Good things to those who wait,” Hank drawls, and Connor can see him in the reflection, watching him like a hawk while he combs his hair. He puts extra care into tucking his cowlick back, and the pomade seems to help tame the unruly curl.

In the mirror he sees Hank, relaxed and still as commanding as ever, slide his hand to his thigh. Connor can’t look away from the way his large palm rests on his leg, the side of it pressing just against the bulge of his half-hard cock.

Connor tucks away one last errant strand, and puts the comb down. He turns around, facing Hank.

“Devastating enough for you?” He asks playfully, and then his breath catches when Hank grips himself through his pants.

“Why don’t you come here and I’ll tell you,” he says, voice low and gravelly. Connor shivers and steps closer. Hank begins to undo his pants, and Connor swallows thickly, mouth salivating.

“Just don’t muss up my hair,” he says weakly, kneeling in front of Hank, rubbing his palms over Hank’s thick thighs.

Hank lets out a chuckle, and then he reaches in his pants and pulls his cock out.

Connor lets out a soft moan, taking him in his hand. Hank’s half-hard, the flushed skin of his dick framed by the black of his pants. Connor strokes him slowly, watching him harden, feeling the weight and thickness of him. Even now, after all this time, after having taken Hank in both his holes several times, the size of him still makes him _ache_ for it.

“Put me in your mouth,” Hank says, voice calm and demanding, and Connor shivers. He leans forward, pressing his lips to the tip to give it a chaste kiss, precome smearing on his bottom lip, before he parts his mouth and swallows Hank down slowly.

He hears Hank’s breath stutter, and he groans around Hank’s shaft. The feeling of Hank’s girth stretching his lips, the weight of him sliding across his tongue, the taste of him, drives Connor crazy, spit already dripping from the corners of his mouth, his cock hard and aching in his pants, trapped against delicate lace.

It must be the first time they’ve done this without Hank putting his hands on him. Connor watches them curl into fists on the arm rests, and he sighs with satisfaction, knowing Hank’s not as unaffected as he likes to pretend.

Connor bobs his head in a slow rhythm, letting the tip of Hank’s cock nudge at the back of his throat before pulling back up, dragging his tongue along the vein on the underside. He suckles at the tip and pulls off completely to tongue at it, trying not to slobber all over Hank’s pants.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Hank groans, and his hand jerks up, and then returns to his thigh, gripping it hard. Connor smiles, licking at his spit-slick lips, and ducks down again, taking Hank deep until his nose brushes against the shirt stretched over his cut. He holds still, throat working around Hank’s cock, fluttering around the tip, and pulls away only when he feels his gag reflex begin to protest.

“Connor!” Hank shouts, voice strained, and Connor whines, shifting on his knees as he searches for friction on his cock. He wants to touch himself, but he suspects that’s not on the agenda. Not yet.

“Goddamn you” Hank growls, and suddenly there’s a hand tangling in Connor’s hair and pushing him down. He lets his jaw go slack and relaxes his throat as much as he can, letting Hank set the rhythm and use his mouth how he wants.

Connor loves making Hank lose control. It’s intoxicating, knowing that he can make Hank unravel, that despite the man Hank is outside of Connor’s bedroom (and sometimes Hank’s office), despite his reputation and the aura he projects to others, he always ends loses himself in the touch of Connor’s body.

It’s a high unlike anything Connor has ever experienced.

Connor’s jaw is beginning to ache. He moves his hand inside Hank’s pants, cupping his balls and sliding down to stroke along his perineum, massaging firmly while he sucks as Hank guides him on his cock.

“That’s it,” Hank pants, holding Connor down, nose buried against Hank’s belly, before yanking him up again. “Look at you, so fucking gorgeous, gagging for my cock,” he growls. “I should come on your face, make you wear it all night.”

Connor whines, hips jerking desperately at the thought. He wants it, he wants so badly for Hank to mark him and to show everyone Connor belongs to him.

He feels Hank pull him back, just enough that his cockhead is resting on the flat of Connor’s tongue.

“You better swallow it all,” Hank barks, stroking himself frantically, and Connor nods, sucking at the tip hard, want coiling in his gut.

Hank comes with a stifled grunt, his hips giving an aborted jerk before he controls himself, and then Connor feels the flood of come in his mouth, the taste of Hank’s semen, salty and thick on his tongue.

He swallows obediently, and then laves along the shaft with his tongue, nuzzling at the wiry hairs at the base of it, humming with satisfaction.

He closes his eyes, concentrating on the scent of Hank, inhaling the smell of sweat and sex, listening to the rhythm of Hank’s laboured breathing.

Hank pets his hair, smoothing his hair back down.

“If they could see you like this,” Hank says, voice lazy and rough from his orgasm. Connor hums in agreement, nosing against the base of Hank’s softening cock.

“We’re going to be late,” Hank says eventually, pushing Connor off by his shoulder.

Connor whines his complaint but sits back, watching greedily as Hank tucks himself back in his pants and zips himself up.

“Don’t worry,” Hank says, letting out a soft, low laugh. “You’ll get your reward later.”

He nudges the tip of his polished shoe against Connor’s erection, and Connor trembles, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Come on,” Hank says, reaching down to pull him up by his biceps, giving his ass one last fondle. He grabs his tie and coat, shrugging it on, shaking off the post-sex looseness in his broad frame.

Connor envies him, feeling still lust-addled, wanting nothing more but to press himself against Hank’s side and rut himself to an orgasm against Hank.

Instead he reaches inside his pants to adjust himself under the lace, and then combs his hair back one more time. Hank waits, patient, and then approaches him with one last gift.

“Your knots are a fucking embarrassment,” Hank mutters, draping the emerald green silk tie around Connor’s neck. Connor smiles, his eyes on Hank’s, admiring the blue of them while Hank ties the knot.

“You only say that because you haven’t seen the ones I can tie with my tongue,” Connor says, voice smooth, and Hank snorts, his attention still on the tie. He tightens the knot and straightens it, and smooths his hand down Connor’s lapels.

“Green,” he says, giving the tie one last tug. “Like the envy on their faces when they see you on my arm.”

Connor laughs, joy and pride bubbling inside him as he loops his arm around Hank’s and they head downstairs and to the car waiting for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SynTurtle)  
> [Tumblr.](http://roomfullofcunts.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
